


Mine to Borrow

by arcanine



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Board Games, Getting Together, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, New Year's Eve, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanine/pseuds/arcanine
Summary: All Simon wanted was to get to Penny's for New Year's. He could honestly do without a broken car in a winter storm.All Baz wanted was to spend a quiet New Year's Eve alone. And then a stranger with a flat tire and a warm smile arrives out of nowhere.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 40
Kudos: 135
Collections: Secret Snowflake 2020





	Mine to Borrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flammable_grimm_pitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammable_grimm_pitch/gifts).



> A gift fic as part of the Carry On server's snowflake exchange. Happy new year, [flammable_grimm_pitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammable_grimm_pitch/pseuds/flammable_grimm_pitch)! I really liked your prompts and I hope that this interpretation of "car breaks down in a winter storm" is something you enjoy :D
> 
> thanks so much to the amazing [waterwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterwings/pseuds/waterwings) for being my beta reader, title provider, go-to car and snow expert, and all around supportive friend <3

**BAZ**

The last thing I wanted tonight was company. But as I peer from the window of my family's most remote country home, I find that there's a man outside. And not just any man. A thoroughly underdressed man, wearing jeans and a hoodie in what's turning out to be the worst snowstorm that England has seen in years.

I don't know what he's doing here. I certainly didn't invite him. And yet for some reason, his car is parked askew across the front lawn. (Or, where I assume the front lawn should be. It's too dark and snow-covered to tell.)

All I wanted was a peaceful New Year's Eve. I earned it. I compiled with every social obligation that December asked of me, fretting over Secret Santa gifts and indulging my family with all the festive cheer I could muster. I sang carols. I iced reindeer shaped biscuits. I did it all for the promise of a some quiet time where I could remove myself from civilization completely.

So why is there a stranger outside my house? There shouldn't be anyone here. This place is the very definition of the middle-of-nowhere, which is exactly where I wanted to be. I may have lost feeling in my frozen fingers three days ago, and perhaps I'm dressed in so many layers I can no longer recognise my own body shape in a mirror, and it might be frozen hell on earth, but it's _my_ frozen hell on earth. My place to finally focus on my damned thesis.

I could honestly do without the interruption.

The stranger is crouched by his car now, prodding at a tire with a foolishly un-gloved hand. It's one of those snowy nights when the world is too white to get dark. That's the only reason I can see him—there are no street lights around here. Just a single country road that winds on past endless fields for miles and miles.

He stands and kicks the tire, and promptly swears loud enough that I can hear him, even through the finest double glazing that my family's money could buy. Please don't say he has a flat. Please, benevolent gods of holiday cheer and seasonal content, don't say I have to go out there in a rush of seasonally-appropriate altruism and assist him.

I force myself to let the curtain fall closed, settling back down onto a plush armchair and burying myself in my notes. He probably has a spare tire. Any reasonable person would. There’s no need to meddle. I'm sure he'll go away if I ignore him.

**SIMON**

I’m not going anywhere. I’ve fucked it. I’m stuck on some country road in God knows where, and my tire’s fully flat. And the worst thing is, it's all my fault.

Ebb warned me about this kinda thing. When I got my first car and she took me for a drive, she told me to always carry a spare. I took that to heart. When I got a flat the other day on the biggest fucking pothole on this side of the Atlantic, I was more than prepared. But it's the festive season. Even people like me who have no family commitments whatsoever don't get anything done between Christmas and New Year. The shops have weird opening hours, or they're closed when you turn up. You can hardly blame me for driving around on my dummy tire for a little longer than usual. I wasn't expecting a fucking snowstorm, was I?

I'll definitely be late to Penny's New Year's thing now, if I manage to make it at all. Driving in these conditions was already stressful enough. I've really fucking fucked it.

There's snow hurtling at my face, and I've never lived up to my name more. It's on my hair and my clothes, and there's ice freezing my eyelashes together. I can only just see the shape of a house in front of me—looming all dark and spooky. There's nothing else around for miles. Just dark hills and fields, covered in blankets of white. Whoever lives there must really hate people. Of all the places to breakdown. Piece of crap car.

I examine the tire again, and I'm disappointed to find that it's still fucked. I kick it, like bullying it will make it magically inflate. It doesn't help, and makes my already sodden foot sting. (Trainers with holes were clearly not the best choice here.)

I sigh, and get back in my car, pulling my mobile from my pocket. I swipe away a text from Penny asking where I am and dial the number for roadside assistance. And the absolute bastards just laugh at me.

"Come out in this weather? On New Year's Eve? There’s a lot of snow out there, y'know."

"I know,” I say through gritted teeth. My trainers are half full of the stuff. The wind rattles my car door as a bleak reminder. “But isn't it your job to come help?"

"Are you a member of our Premium Cover club?" the man asks.

"Well, no, but…"

"Then I'm afraid you might be waiting 'till tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” I shouldn’t have gone for the cheapest policy. I thought the Premium Club was just for people who buy first class tickets on the train. You know, rich people who like to show off that they’re better than us commoners. People who have more money than sense. "But—but I'm stuck here! Please. There's gotta be something you can do!"

"I'll stick you on the list, but you've gotta be realistic, mate. It's practically a blizzard out there."

A few flakes of snow and I swear this whole country falls to bits.

"I'm in the middle of nowhere!" I hiss. "What am I supposed to do?"

"If I were you," the man says, "I'd find somewhere warm to wait. Happy New Year, by the way."

I drop my head back onto the seat.

_Happy fucking New Year._

I close my eyes, certain that I'm going to be trapped here forever. And then the door to the big, spooky house opens.

**BAZ**

I’m not doing it for him. I’m doing it for the promise of an empty driveway and a bit of peace. I only pull on my warmest duffle coat and my winter boots because I’m tired of hearing him climbing in and out of that awful car. I'm offering selfish help, the kind that will aid me in escorting him off my property so I can finally concentrate. I brace myself for the icy wind as I open the door and plunge myself out into the chaos.

My face feels numb in moments and the hairs inside my nose freeze almost instantly. The snow is cold and thick under my boots as I trek down towards the intruder. He opens his car door and climbs out, slamming it shut behind him. (Always with the slamming.) It's embarrassing, the way he watches me approach, staring in disbelief like I'm some mythical beast.

I'd planned to be polite but firm, but the cold bites at me, and I'm instantly miserable. My words come out sharp, my voice raised against the racing wind.

"Why are you here?" I call out.

The man frowns at me. "Why are _you_ here?" he calls back.

"I live here."

“You own this place?” he asks.

“My family does."

"Your family's in there?”

I shake my head. "Just me."

I take a few steps closer so we can lower our voices, and my stomach flips when I get a good look at him. He's fucking _lovely_. (Or...I think he is. It's rather dark outside.)

He seems around my age—somewhere in his mid 20s—and he's broad shouldered under that pathetically thin hoodie. There are snowflakes in his hair, the most glorious curls I could imagine, and I want to brush them free. I want to lure him to somewhere with street lights so I can seek out more details. (For academic purposes. So I know who I'm dealing with.)

I wasn't prepared for _handsome_. I'm not dressed for _handsome_. I'm wearing two jumpers and a dressing gown underneath my coat. My hood is up and fastened so tight that just a miniscule part of my face is showing, and under that, my hair hasn't left its messy bun in days.

"Did you come out here to stare at me?" the man asks, and I feel my cheeks warm despite the icy conditions. "Or to laugh at how pathetic I am?"

“I came here,” I say, "to find out how long you are planning to remain parked on my private property.”

He gestures at his tire. "As long as it takes me to fix this."

"Do you have a spare?" I ask.

He grimaces. No, then. "Do you?"

I examine his beaten-up car. It's an old relic that would almost certainly be worth more if it was crushed as scrap metal. “Not one that would fit that thing.”

"Great," he mutters. "Just great."

I watch him shiver. He must be freezing, dressed like that. I stare down at what appears to be a pair of sodden trainers buried in inches of snow.

“Where's your coat?"

The man shrugs. "Wasn't expecting to be stuck here, was I?”

"Did you phone roadside assistance?"

"Yeah. They were useless. Said they'll probably come in the morning."

"Of course they did," I drone. "A little bit of snow and this whole country falls apart."

"That's what I said!"

We roll our eyes in mutual despair, and it feels like a moment of understanding. Some small indication that this stranger might not be completely terrible.

The wind blows again, and the small amount of my exposed skin is pelted with snow. The man wraps his arms around himself, and I know that can't leave him out here.

"Look," I say. "I wouldn't normally do this, but would you like to wait inside?"

"Come in there?” The man frowns. "In that spooky house with you? When you could be a murderer, or a villain, or a vampire or…"

"A vampire?" I scoff. “You should be lucky I'm offering at all. Shouldn't I be the one fretting about the consequences of inviting you in?”

He narrows his eyes. “Exactly what a murderer would say. I'm a stranger! Why would you invite me in if you weren’t plotting something?”

My nose is so cold it's about to fall off, and this man’s jaw remains set in something stubborn. This is the last time I attempt to do anything kind for anyone. Perhaps the last time I ever open my door at all.

“Because you'll die if you stay out here," I say. "And I really don't want to have to deal with your frozen corpse.”

"I'll be fine."

“You’ll _freeze_.”

"I'll stay in my car!"

"In that old thing?"

"Look, I don't need your help. I'm okay. Got my car and my hoodie and a whole box of cereal bars. What more could a bloke want?"

“Fine,” I say, unwilling to spend another moment outside. “Perish. I'll phone the council to remove your body in the morning."

"You won't have to," he shouts after me, as I turn on my heel. "I'll be long gone by then! And I don't mean dead, I mean out of this shitty...wherever we are!"

I stomp back through the snow towards my front door, glancing back at him once more. I’m glad he didn’t come inside, because he’s clearly unhinged. I don't have time for this. Not when there's a deadline looming.

I peer outside again once I’ve peeled off my outer layers, and I see him reclining his seat. Good God, what an idiot. I think he's planning to sleep in his car.

**SIMON**

Fuck it. I'll sleep in my car. I don't even care how early it is. If I keep the engine running, I can use the heater. It's honestly almost pleasant. I’m hard as bricks, me. I slept in an empty bath once. I'm not opposed to kipping in weird places if I have to. I'm self-sufficient as fuck.

I don't need any blokes with posh voices helping me out. Even if it was a nice voice. He had a nice nose too. Couldn't really see much of the rest of his face, but I'm sure it was decent. If I'd gone inside, I could've seen him without that huge coat…

But there was no need for that. I'm perfectly happy right here.

Well...okay. That's a lie. I really did want to go and see Penny. She’s been working away for months now. I spent Christmas Day alone, eating a ready meal for one, and dreaming about that moment when I’d finally get to see her. The one person in the world who actually gives a shit about me. And now, I’m barely half an hour closer to her and I’ve already hit a bump in the road. Literally. I feel shit as I fire off a text telling her I'm probably not gonna make it, and even worse as my phone battery flashes a 15% warning. I pocket it before she texts me back. I can always sense her disappointment through the letters on the screen, and I’m not in the mood to see it. I recline my seat and close my eyes, trying to ignore the firmness of a dozen years of use. I crank the heat up a little higher. This is totally fine. I can do this all night.

**BAZ**

He's not going to last the night.

**SIMON**

I'm not gonna last the night. I realise it just before my petrol tank blinks to empty. I've been sitting here watching it dwindle like my bank account after payday, and I didn't even notice what an idiot I am. It only hits me as my car officially runs out that even when they do come to change the tire over, I still can't go anywhere. _Because I have no petrol._

I'm going to be stuck here for the rest of my life. I'll be an ice block, the human definition of the Asda freezer section, and that man with the big coat will come back and glare at me for it. If I’m lucky, he really will call the council. Maybe they’ll arrest me for trespassing. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? I bet prison has central heating.

It's a lot less pleasant in my car with the heat off. The air cools down faster than I'd thought possible and I have no idea how to preserve the warmth. Before I know it, my breath is fully visible, so cloudy that it looks like I'm chain smoking.

My socks are soaking wet. My toes are numb. I stare up at the house before me, and I think about that bloke from before. I shouldn't have turned him down. I could’ve at least charged my phone in there. I'm gonna die because I was too stubborn to accept help from someone dressed like an alpaca. (And he did have a very handsome nose.)

I sit in the car a little longer, my teeth chattering so violently that I'm certain they're going to crack. But my resolve cracks before they do. I open the car door. My legs move on their own, before I can stop them. Maybe it's self-preservation. Maybe my brain's too frozen to think straight. But the next thing I know, I'm on his doorstep, and my knuckles have already rapped against the ice-cold wood in front of me.

He opens the door, and light floods into my eyes. It illuminates him, and he looks like an angel. If angels were dark and brooding and you know what, maybe angel’s not the right word, but it just feels good to see something other than my increasingly-blue fingers. He looks like a footballer or a model. Like someone I could stare at all night.

“Can I help you?” he asks, as though he doesn’t know that I’m here to grovel. Like he’s determined to hear it for himself.

“Does the offer still stand?” I ask.

His lip curls. “I thought you didn’t need my help.”

“I’ve reconsidered,” I growl out. “It’s fucking freezing and I’m sorry I was an arse and if you won’t let me, I'll have to start my trek to the next middle-of-nowhere house on this road because I really might die out here and—”

“Come in,” he says.

“Really?” I ask.

“Yes.” He opens his door a little wider. “Hurry up. This house is poorly insulated and we could do without letting more cold in.”

“Thank you,” I say, almost bursting into (frozen, icy) tears as I step in and shut the door behind me. “You’re literally a lifesaver.”

“I would’ve been sooner if you’d taken me up on my first offer,” he mutters.

I brush the snow off my hoodie, scattering flakes of sleet onto the posh looking carpet.

“I’m Simon, by the way,” I say, as I attempt to force my frozen feet out of my shoes. “Simon Snow.”

“Snow?” he repeats.

“Yeah.” I say. “Ironic, innit?”

His mouth twitches in amusement. “I’m Baz."

 _Baz._ I thought he'd have a posher name, to be honest. I get a proper look at him in the light, and it's easy to see that he’s drawn in fancier lines than I am. He's got a strong hairline, and those lips that look like they're pouting. I think he’s wearing at least two jumpers, and a thick black dressing gown over them. He's a wad of warm material, with two long, skinny legs poking out, and the jammy bastard still looks better than me.

I stand there for a moment, completely dumbfounded. I wasn’t expecting my saviour to be so fit.

"Uh. Nice to meet you, Baz. Cheers for all this."

I drag my hand through my hair, and Baz frowns as more snow scatters onto the carpet. I move towards him, but he holds out a hand. “Stay on the rug," he orders.

My legs freeze on command. (Not hard. I barely have any feeling left in them.) “Stay here? You don’t...you don't mean all night, do you?”

Baz shakes his head. “I’ll get you a towel. And some dry clothes. Just…wait there.”

I'm almost surprised when he comes back. He leads me down a long corridor, lined with fancy paintings and family photos. There’s so many people in every picture, all of them dark haired and severe. We end up outside a bathroom with a surprisingly modern looking shower.

"Here," he says. "Take your time. You can use whatever you like if you promise not to break anything."

I set the water running, and check the door’s locked three times before I step in. It’s a bit weird, getting naked in a stranger’s house, but at this point, I’ll do anything to stop shivering.

I change into his t-shirt and some joggers after. They’re fancy joggers, made of thick material that are too long for my legs. He gave me a grey wooly jumper too, and I feel better when I’m wearing dry clothes. More human. Less like I’m on the brink of death. I walk out of the steamy bathroom, peeking around doorways and looking for Baz. I'm not sure why there are so many rooms but no one else is here. So many beds with no one to fill them.

I find him in a dining room, sitting with a laptop at a table that seats at least ten. I'm not sure what to do, so I linger in the doorway.

“Thank you,” I say. “I needed that.”

He startles at the sound of my voice, and then looks at me with the kind of expression that makes me feel faintly embarrassed. I ruffle my damp hair trying to smooth it down and hope he doesn’t notice that his clothes are a little tight on me. I think he must be skinnier than me underneath all those layers. (Not my fault I’m still carrying a bit of mince pie weight from Christmas.) (I _did_ spend the holidays alone.)

“I wouldn’t ordinarily be this charitable,” he says. “Don’t expect such niceties the next time you breakdown outside my house.”

I take a seat at the chair opposite him and it creaks beneath my weight. I smile at him. (Warming up has made me more smiley.) “I won’t.”

He carries on typing, so I fire off a couple of messages to Penny.

 **[20:32] tire still flat. waiting in some blokes house. might run out of battery but phone 999 if u don't hear from me tomoz  
** **[20:33] happy new year btw. i’m so sorry :(**

She sends me back a string of texts that make me lose a whole 3% of my dwindling battery. She demands my location, and sends me a list of questions about Baz. I realise I can’t answer any of them. I have to read them out.

"How old are you?" I ask him. "What's your last name? And where did you grow up?"

Baz looks up from his laptop. "Am I being interviewed?"

"My friend Penny wants to know. She says I shouldn't stay here if I don't know anything about you. Stranger danger and all that."

Baz exhales. "Twenty-five. Grimm-Pitch. Hampshire. Does that suffice?"

"Same age as me," I say, relaying the information back to Penny. I wince as she sends me more questions ("why does he need two last names??") and my phone insists that I should charge it again. "You can ask me something too, if you want."

“Alright. Why the hell were you driving in those awful conditions?”

"I was going to a party."

"Must've been some party."

"It wasn't gonna be wild or anything, but I was looking forward to it. Haven't really seen anyone this Christmas. I couldn't get the time off work, so—" I stop myself. It's more than he wants to know. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Did the weather stop you from seeing everyone? Is that why you're all alone?"

Baz types something before he answers. "You ask a lot of questions, don't you?"

"Well, I'm stuck in your house. Might as well get to know each other."

“It’s not my house, exactly. It’s one of my family’s summer homes. And if you must know, I chose to be alone. I was planning on seeing anyone, before you came along."

I think about all those people lined up in the family photos in the hall, and I wonder where they are. “Why?” I ask. “Who’d want to be alone on New Year’s?”

“Me,” Baz says, his voice clipped. “So I can focus on writing my thesis without interruption. And now..."

I shift in my seat. _And now I'm here_. 

"I can just hang out quietly if you need to work. Watch your TV. Borrow a couch to kip on. Charge my phone because my battery is— _fuck!_ "

The chandelier above us flickers, and all the light in the room disappears. Leaving me and my new mate Baz, who I met all of five seconds ago, completely alone in the dark.

“What happened?” I ask.

“I'm not sure,” Baz says, and the sound of his voice makes me shiver. I hear his chair scrape and then a beam of white light shines towards me from his phone. He walks across the dining room, flicking the light switch on and off a few times. "It looks like the power went out."

"I can see that! But why—" I hear a loud creak somewhere above me and I jump to my feet. I'd gone soft after that shower. I'd started to trust him. But now I wish I’d gone with my gut instinct. This is suspicious as fuck. It’s exactly what a murderer would do. “How do we make it come back?”

“There’s a fuse box down in the basement. Let’s go check it.”

“You want me to come with you.” My voice is shrill. “A tall, handsome stranger. To a basement in a creepy house. In _the dark._ ”

“Did you say _handsome?”_ Baz asks. (Is that really what he’s focused on?)

“There’s no way," I say. "There’s no fucking way.”

“Stay here then,” Baz says. “I’ll go alone.”

“Fine,” I say.

“Fine,” Baz repeats.

I reach for my phone as his footsteps fade, but my battery's too low to use the flashlight. This is what horror movies are made of. This is exactly how they start. There’s another creak from behind me, and I squeak like a dog toy that's been trodden on.

“Baz?” I call out, chasing after the sound of his footsteps. “Baz! Wait for me. I’m—”

He grunts as I collide against his back, my face pressed into the fluff of his dressing gown. I scramble away, cursing as my shins bash against something hard behind me. Fuck, I’m pathetic. He must think I’m the least cool person on the planet.

“Sorry,” I say. “Bit...bit dark, innit?”

He turns to face me. His voice is so low that it makes me shiver. “Are you scared, Snow?”

“N-No,” I say. “Why would I be— _AH!”_

A scream more high-pitched than I thought I was capable of leaves my mouth. I flinch as his cold hand brushes mine. And then I look down and realise he’s pressed something into my palm. A battery powered torch.

“Use it,” he says. “It might help avoid any future collisions.”

I nod. I follow him down a corridor, hanging close like his shadow. “Thanks. I wasn’t scared, by the way. I'm tough. Get in fights and stuff. I mean—no, that's not true, I don't _start_ fights, but if you tried to fight me I could probably—”

There’s an ominous creak as Baz opens the door to the basement. I shine my torch down the creepiest set of stairs I’ve ever seen in my life, and my heart starts pounding. I’m absolutely certain that if I go down there, I’ll never come back.

“Shall I wait here?” I ask. “Y'know, like a guard dog."

“The stairs are steep,” Baz says, ignoring my valiant offer. “Take my arm so you don’t trip.”

My fingers clench around the sleeve of his dressing gown and we tackle the stairs slowly, like two bumbling old men without their walkers. The air is thick and dusty when we make it down. I shine my light around, just to make sure there are no zombies. Baz doesn't even bother to check. He just sensibly prods the fuse box.

“It looks fine,” he says. “Which means we're likely to be dealing with a power cut.”

“A power cut?" I repeat as he turns to face me. “Does that mean we’re stuck in the dark all night?”

“Perhaps not all night. But in this weather, it’s certainly a possibility.”

My heart sinks. For fuck’s sake. Can anything else go wrong? “What do we do now?”

“Look for supplies.” Baz shines his light on a stack of boxes. “You take that side, and I’ll start here. Grab anything useful. Anything that will help us survive the night.”

**BAZ**

We're not going to survive the night. At least, not if Simon Snow has anything to do with.

"I found something else!" he calls out to me, and I turn to see what he's unearthed now.

It's amazing how much you can learn about a stranger by observing what they deem to be useful. We’ve started a small collection of things to take back upstairs, and all of my contributions have been sensible. (Candles. A battery powered radio.) But all Snow has fixated on so far is an old football and a large bag of Kettle Chips which may or may not be three years out of date.

“Loadsa games," he says. "Come look!”

He shines his light at a stack of board games that are covered in a thick layer of dust.

“Are those useful?” I ask. “Do they fit my strict criteria anymore than that football did?”

“They could be,” he says. “I mean, what else are we gonna do in the dark?”

I swallow down my immediate thought. There are a whole bunch of things I’d like to do with a man as handsome as Snow in the dark.

“Scrabble,” I say, to distract myself from my wandering thoughts. “Do you play?”

“Fuck Scrabble. You have Guess Who? And Hungry Hungry Hippos! Why do you have so many games, anyway?”

"I have younger siblings,” I say, as he grabs one off the shelf, and dust scatters like the snow outside.

"How many?"

“Too many, if you ask me,” I say, a little bitterly.

“You should be grateful,” he says.

“Grateful they didn’t stop bothering me all over Christmas? Grateful I had to come live out in the middle of nowhere to get a moment’s peace?”

“Yeah, actually.” Snow’s tone is harsh. “Sounds a whole lot fucking better than being alone.”

His face is barely visible, but I think I’ve made him angry. And angering a stranger in my basement in the dark seems like a poor decision on my part.

“Are you...an only child, then?” I ask.

“I’m an only-me. I don’t have anyone. So even if your family drives you bonkers, maybe you should appreciate what you’ve got.”

He’s right. I know he is. I know that Daphne and my siblings were disappointed that I left before New Year. Even my father asked if I was sure as he handed over the keys to this place. But I couldn’t do it this year. Not when I had so much work to do. I couldn’t handle Fiona’s drunken tears and my father’s silence. My mother’s absence hanging over us, and not one of us being brave enough to mention it.

“Sometimes it’s easier to be alone,” I admit, and I’m not sure why I do. Maybe it’s easier to be honest in the dark. Maybe I know that I’ll never see him again after tonight. “My mother passed when I was young. And sometimes, when we all gather, it reminds me more that she’s not there.” I stop and I shake my head. “Sorry. You really don’t need to know that.”

“No, I’m sorry. About your mum. And...for making things weird?”

“Things were already quite weird to begin with.”

Snow’s torch light dances across the stone floor. Maybe he’s hoping it’ll burn a hole that will swallow us both up. That will whisk us away from this strange, awkward moment that’s far too personal for someone I barely know.

“I have a suggestion,” I say. “Something that might help to pass the time.”

I feel Snow take a step closer. The only thing standing between us is one dressing gown, two jumpers, and a game of Connect Four. “What?”

I grab a bottle of wine from a nearby rack of vintage red, not even bothering to check the year. My hopes of making an academic breakthrough tonight have already been crushed beneath this man's sodden trainers. I might as well fully give in.

"Do you drink?" I ask.

There's just enough light to see that he’s smiling. "I suppose I could be convinced."

***

"Do you have a big nose?" Snow asks.

I press my hand against my nose, and hope that there's enough light from the fire for him to notice my offended glare. “I suppose it’s a little on the large side, but…”

He laughs. "In the _game_ ," he says, gesturing to his Guess Who? board.

“Oh.” I re-examine Maria, my character in this round. "No."

Snow groans, squinting at his own board in the dark. “Are you sure?”

"Yes,” I say. “Are you Alfred?”

"No,” Snow says. I raise my eyebrows, and he sighs and flicks the board so all the tiny windows slide shut. "Fine! I'm Alfred! How the fuck do you win every time?"

"I told you," I say. "I worked out the formula for winning this when I was seven. I'm completely unbeatable."

He rolls his eyes at me, and then reaches over to grab his wine glass. I try not to let his proximity affect me. I try not to think about the fact that he smells like my shampoo.

Maybe it was a bad idea to settle down in the room I’ve been sleeping in. But it's the warmest place in the house, and the heat is fading fast. (I was working in here at the desk here earlier.) (I was making progress, before he arrived with his bad car and his warm smile and his face full of freckles and ruined everything.) We're sitting by the fire, cross-legged on the rug in front of it. The room is lit by candles and the fire is crackling and if Snow wasn't a stranger—if this bizarre situation wasn't born out of pure happenstance—then this might feel like _something._

I shake my head, reminding myself that this couldn't be further from anything at all. Just because a man with the most charming smile I've ever seen has deposited himself on my doorstep, that doesn't mean he's mine to keep. He's not even mine to borrow.

But you can hardly blame me for appreciating the opportunity, however fleeting it may be. I like being close to him. I like the way we're making the best of this terrible scenario. Working our way through half a bottle of wine and fumbling through a game of Operation in the dark might have been the most fun I’ve had all year. Especially when he gripped my hand to steady it during a particularly difficult wishbone extraction.

"Another round?" I ask.

"No. You're fucking ruthless. But I _will_ have some more wine, if you're offering."

I have to get close to top up his glass. That's the only reason I shift towards him. If I settle down nearer than I was before, that has nothing to do with the fact that he's a very attractive man. It's just very, very cold.

"Thanks," he says, holding my gaze.

"You're welcome."

We both take a long synchronised sip.

"That was fun," he says. "The games, I mean. I keep trying to get the kids interested in board games, but you know what they're like these days."

"Kids?" I almost choke on my wine. I thought he said he had no family. Did I get it all wrong? Have I reached the low point of lusting over some certified-heterosexual family man? "You have children?" 

"Oh, no. Not _my_ kids. I work with ‘em. Worked all over Christmas, actually. Tonight was my one day off."

“Ah,” I say. “I'm sorry. I’m sure you didn't want to spend your evening this way.”

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault. You're not the one who drove around on a dummy tire in a fucking blizzard.”

“You didn’t tell me that part,” I say. “If I’d known you were such an idiot, I might’ve left you out in the cold.”

“But you didn’t, did you? You let me in even though it was clearly a right pain and I...I really appreciate it.”

Snow looks at me, firelight dazzling across his cheeks, and for the first time in what feels like days, I'm actually warm. A little too warm, actually. I tug at the cord of my dressing gown, pulling it open. I shuffle out of it, almost embarrassed to reveal the thick white woolen turtleneck underneath.

“Y’know, it’s not so bad here," he says. "I can think of worse places to be.”

“Really? There are worse places to be than a frozen house with no power?”

“Well." Snow's smile is so casual. It makes my heart somersault in my chest. "I mean, the company’s not bad at least.”

The darkness makes me brave enough to smile back. “I suppose it isn’t.”

"We should toast," he says. "To the weirdest fucking New Year’s Eve anyone could ever imagine.”

“Cheers,” I say, clinking my glass against his.

"Cheers," he says back.

**SIMON**

"Cheers," I say, as Baz drapes a wool blanket over my legs.

It's getting colder. The later it gets, the more the temperature drops, and even the fire can't keep us warm. Baz won’t stop shivering. Once I notice it, I can’t stop thinking about it. He's shivering, and I want to warm him up. I wonder if he'd let me if I tried.

He shouldn’t have taken off his dressing gown. I mean, I wanted him to. I’ve been thinking about it all night. Peeling off those layers, one by one, and discovering who he really is under all that wool. I want to know everything about him. I want to be more than just a stranger he got stuck with for the night.

Is that weird? That we've only just met and I want more than just this. I've never met anyone like him before. When I first met Penny, she announced that we were friends, and that was that. I wonder if that would work in this scenario.

_We're friends now, Baz, whether you like it or not._

_I’m not just going to leave and never see you again._

Is friends even the right word for it? I really don’t know.

The only thing that’s certain is that I can't let him sit there shivering any longer. The wine blessed me with warmth, and I want to share it. The least I can do is give something back. I shuffle closer along the rug. And then I press my side against his—arms and legs and hips.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"What's it look like?" I say. "You've shivering too much."

"There's a _storm_ ,” Baz says defensively.

"That's why I'm helping you. Honestly, I’m like a radiator. Let me share some warmth.”

I wrap an arm around his shoulder. He’s taller than me, but he fits there perfectly. My heart picks up speed, just from being so close. I’m worried that he’ll notice. (Does he notice? Is that why he tenses beneath my touch?)

"S’alright, isn’t it?" I say. "Nothing weird about two blokes cuddling for warmth. Perfectly normal, given the circumstances."

Baz still makes a soft, strangled sound.

Maybe it is weird.

Maybe he thinks I'm gonna make a move or something.

Maybe I want to. He's the fittest bloke I’ve ever been this close to.

(No. Don't go there. Bad thoughts. _Wine_ thoughts.)

"Does that help?" I ask.

“A little."

I think this might've been a bad idea. Baz is so close, and he smells so nice. It's dark and there's a roaring fire and this whole thing makes my mouth dry. I'm overheating in a blizzard. He _must_ be able to feel my heart pounding.

"It's...it's almost midnight,” I point out. "Is there anything you wanna do before the year ends?"

Baz is so close that I hear him swallow. He turns his head towards mine, and his lips are right there. "I can think of something. But I'm not sure that it would be appropriate."

"Worse than two blokes cuddling warmth?" I murmur.

Baz nods. "Far, far worse."

His hands find my cheek. And then he’s leaning closer, and his mouth finds mine, and his lips aren't as cold as I thought they'd be. They're softer. They’re perfect. They're—

They're gone too soon.

"I’m sorry," Baz says, and he's frowning. _Why_ is he frowning? "I invite you in and then I push myself on you when you have nowhere else to go and—"

I kiss him again, with so much force that he falls back onto the rug. He makes a soft sound against me, and it’s a long moment before I let him emerge for air.

“Snow—” he says, and it makes me grin that I've overwhelmed him. That it's the only word he can manage. 

"There is nowhere else,” I say. “Nowhere else I'd rather be."

This isn’t how I imagined New Year’s would go. When I woke up this morning, I never knew that this could be everything I wanted.

Finding out that Baz's hair is long enough to reach his shoulders. Studying how pretty it looks spread across the rug beside the fire. Not knowing exactly when the minutes tick over into the next year of my life because I'm two busy discovering that Baz _is_ wearing two gloriously thick jumpers.

Because I'm too busy kissing a stranger in the dark.

But it's hard to think of him that way when he draws me close and murmurs my name.

When he feels like someone I was meant to meet.

**BAZ**

The last thing I wanted last night was company. But as I prise open my eyes on New Year's Day, I find that there's a man lying beside me. And not just any man. A man who's startlingly warm for someone who’s named after snow. A man who’s dressed in my clothes, sleeping beside me with his mouth hanging askew.

I lie there for a moment, remembering how quickly my body warmed beneath his. Of how easily we fell asleep when we finally crawled into bed together, after kissing for what felt like hours.

I don't want to wake him. If I wake him, he'll have to leave. And if he leaves, then I might never see him again. And I'm not sure I'll be able to return to my life and forget his existence. I'm not sure I can return to normality as though none of this happened at all.

Snow looks even lovelier in the daylight. His skin glows golden as the sun shines in through the gap in the curtains. (The gap I left behind when I was peering out at him.) (When I had no idea what I was getting myself into.)

I close my eyes, hoping I can drift off for a little longer. As long as I stay in bed, he'll still be here. Perhaps I could feign sleep all morning. It seems like a sensible plan until it's foiled by an icy toe prodding at the gap between my sock and my thermal trousers.

"Morning," he says.

"Put some socks on," I say. "And keep those icy things away from me."

"Make me." He grins at me. 

I _want_ to. My heart wasn't made for this. It wasn't built to withstand handsome men who smile at me in the morning after kissing me until my mouth is sore. Snow rolls onto his side to face me. It feels so intimate that it makes me ache.

I try to think neutral thoughts. Classic literature. Austen. MLA referencing.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks me.

"Balls," I say.

"Balls?” he frowns. “As in bollocks? Or bouncy things? Or—"

"As in Jane Austen."

Snow brow wrinkles further. Even his frowns are adorable. “What?”

"My thesis explores the scenes of dance,” I meet his eyes, “or balls in Austen's works. And how she uses dance as her primary means for sexualised social interactions.”

"Oh. That’s...” he fumbles to find the right word. “That’s cool."

My cheeks flame at the word _sexualised._ How could I ever have this was a safer topic of conversation?

“I should probably get back to work soon actually."

"Right. Yeah. I should probably...uh. Yeah."

I’m not sure what pains me more—leaving the warmth of the bed and plunging myself into the cold, or leaving him lying alone in it. I sit on the mattress for a moment and drag my hands through my hair. My fingers snag on the tangles. He was far more gentle when he touched it last night.

"Looks like the power's back on,” I say.

"Aw, brilliant! Do you mind if I charge my phone? I told Penny to phone the police if she didn't hear from me, so..."

I nod.

I try to think of the right thing to say. I dwell on it all throughout breakfast and a shower and his phone calls, begging my brain to come up with something—anything right. I pray that roadside assistance will refuse to come out on a Bank Holiday, but before I know it, their ugly yellow van is invading my property. Before I know it, Snow’s yelling for me to come outside, announcing that he's good to go.

It’s just as cold as it was yesterday, as we linger by his car, but the snow has settled into something calm and bright. The air is fresher in the daylight, the wind less biting and cruel. At least I get to see him here before he leaves, framed by hills and fallen snow. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind about these?” he asks, tugging at the sleeve of the jumper he's still wearing. “I don’t wanna steal your stuff.”

“It’s not stealing if I let you take them. Consider them a...holiday gift."

“I should've got you something,” he says. He looks down at his feet and then back at me. “Thank you. Again. You’re an actual lifesaver. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

I take a breath before I answer. “Neither could I.”

“Me?" Snow says. "I didn’t do anything.”

“You kept me warm, didn’t you? And entertained throughout an awful night. You...”

There are so many words on the tip of my tongue, but I can't say them. Snow fills my cowardly silence, clearing his throat.

"Um. Penny’s waiting. And I think she really will call 999 if I don’t get there soon, so—”

“Right,” I say. “Yes. Of course.”

“Good luck with the thesis," Snow says. 

“Thank you. Give your friend Penny my apologies for keeping your here all night.”

Simon fumbles with his car door. I take a few steps back towards, the snow crunching beneath my feet.

“Uh—Baz!” he calls out, and I look back him.

“Yes?”

“I know you’ve done a lot for me. And I feel really bad asking for something else, but...but can you help me with one more thing?”

I pretend to roll my eyes at him, but I nod. I'd do anything to have him here, for even a minute longer. “What is it now, Simon?”

“It’s just...I think my phone’s broken." He waves it at me, and he grins. "It doesn’t have your number in it.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, Happy New Year, and here's hoping 2021 is a better year for everyone! find me over here on [tumblr!](https://arca9.tumblr.com/)


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